" "Ha! hussy, dare you threaten?" cried Wild; but, checking himself, he turned to Ireton and asked, "How long have the women been gone?" "Scarcely five minutes," replied the latter. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester.
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